


You are the promised kiss of springtime

by leiascully



Series: Nights On New Caprica [3]
Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Community: smut_tuesdays, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-09
Updated: 2008-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-03 07:11:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I believe that you wanted to discuss the good times on New Caprica."</p>
            </blockquote>





	You are the promised kiss of springtime

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: 3.16 A Day In The Life  
> A/N: Happy birthday, [**angiescully**](http://angiescully.livejournal.com/)! Here is the sweet, happy [**smut_tuesdays**](http://community.livejournal.com/smut_tuesdays/) I promised you. I hope you have an excellent day. This is, after a fashion, a sequel to [The gravity of duties, the groundspeed of joy](http://leiascully.livejournal.com/608329.html), but it makes sense without it as long as you've seen "Unfinished Business", and I believe you know what I mean. Title from the standard "All The Things You Are".  
> Disclaimer: _Battlestar Galactica_ and all related characters belong to Ronald Moore, NBC Universal, Sci-Fi Channel, and Sky One. No infringement is intended and no profit is made from this.

He met her as she came off the shuttle. She stepped carefully down the ramp in her high heels and took his hand as if she needed to steady herself. There was one thing he hadn't considered about the end of the world: she might never have another comfortable pair of shoes. She was wearing his favorite shirt too, the white blouse that crossed over her breasts like a promise. Her pale skin glowed under the bright lights. He remembered her in the red dress, and mostly out of the red dress with just the moonlight on her skin, and swallowed hard against wanting her as she reached the deck.

"Admiral," she murmured, as if she were telling him a secret. Her voice was warm and low.

"Madam President," he said, keeping hold of her hand. She squeezed his fingers and withdrew her hand from his grasp.

"As you see, I've returned." She shook her head, which made her hair glint.

"I look forward to our meeting," he said, offering her his arm. She took it with a little smile and let him escort her down the corridor to his quarters, as if they were on a date, walking down a street instead of surrounded by Marines and his pilots. He passed her through the hatch and shut it behind them. She went to the couch and sat down, crossing her lean legs and leaning back comfortably into the cushions.

"Gods," she breathed, "I thought I'd never get off Colonial One. How do you handle it, everyone always _wanting_ things? Your signature or your opinion or just your _time_, but it never ends."

"I lock the door," he said, waiting for her laugh. She chuckled obligingly, her eyes crinkling at him. Something warmed in the vicinity of his stomach. He was proud he could coax laughter out of her. "Would you like some tea, Madam President?"

"I would love some tea," she said softly.

"Galactica may not be as well furnished as Colonial One, but we have a few comforts," he said, bringing over the cups.

"I've always been extremely comfortable here," she said as if it were a confidence. She sipped at her tea and peeked up at him. "Please do sit, Admiral. I don't wish to be an imposition."

"That isn't possible," he said, and sat next to her. "It's always good to see you."

She smiled at him and he basked in her pleasure. "Thank you, Admiral."

"You're welcome, Madam President."

"You know I don't really have an agenda today," she said.

"I know," he said, and smiled back at her.

She lifted her teacup to her lips; the steam from the cup made the ends of her hair curl across her forehead, and he had a sudden flashback to her pushing back her mussed hair in the morning sunlight, laughing as he tried to tie back the mass of her curls. "I believe," she said, "that you wanted to discuss the good times on New Caprica." Her smile was secretive now, turned inward.

"It seems like a dream," he said. "Good, but a little hazy."

She laughed. "Such are the joys of intoxication. We were both a little silly that day."

"More than a little," he agreed, "but it was still important. What I can remember."

She hummed a little. "It was important to me too."

"You said it was silly," he reminded her.

She dipped her head and looked at him through her eyelashes, putting down her cup. "I was leaving you an out, Bill. We haven't talked about it, and it's hard to know what matters in these situations."

"It matters a great deal, Laura," he said, putting down his own cup and taking her hand. "To me."

"To me too," she murmured. "And I remember perfectly."

"So do I," he admitted.

She laughed, suddenly, her head tipping back so that he could see the line of her throat down to her chest. "Gods, how we dance around each other."

"You've said that before," he said, his thumb moving over the back of her hand.

"It's still true," she said, smiling. "Tell me what you remember."

He paused. "I remember your red dress. I remember all day trying to get you alone, and all those endless ceremonies just wanting to walk away with you, feeling like I was wasting time. I remember our little picnic away from all the others. I remember looking at the stars, and after that."

She was blushing a little. "The stars were beautiful. I miss real air."

"You told me that life was short," he said, still caressing her hand. He turned her palm up and traced the lines there.

"That's still true," she said, throaty and rich, and put her fingers under his chin, tipping his face towards hers, and she kissed him. She kissed him and he remembered all of the kisses that night on New Caprica, the smell of the dirt under them and the air around them. Her mouth was soft and warm and magical: kissing her, he could forget that there was no future and that they were chasing a myth. She was enough. Living was enough. The ache of his desire for her was more happiness than he could bear.

"You're somebody again, Madam President," he said when she drew back. He was still holding her hand. The air around him seemed cold without her to fill it.

"Some things matter more than propriety," she said. "Even presidents and admirals are allowed a measure of joy in their private lives."

He shifted closer to her. "There's no privacy in the fleet. We both know it."

"Frankly, Admiral, I don't give a damn," she said, her voice low and thrilling. "There's no shore. There's no rest. We have the right to make our own peace."

He ran his hand down her arm. "You make a compelling argument."

"Oratory is one of my gifts," she said demurely. "Now, Admiral, if you would care to discover a few others?"

He laughed and kissed her, drawing her into his arms. "I remember those gifts. I didn't talk about it because I didn't want to wake up and find it was a dream."

"It is a dream," she said, her lips at his ear. "But I, for one, am willing to keep dreaming until I absolutely have to wake up. Isn't that why you brought this up?"

He brushed her hair out of his face. "Maybe I just couldn't get you out of my head."

She kissed him lingeringly. Her mouth tasted like tea and he wanted to soak her in. He cupped her face in his hands and held her there, feeling her smile against his mouth as her hands slipped around his waist and untucked his jacket. "I suggest that we move this to the bed, Admiral."

"It's better than a blanket on the sand," he said. "Although I enjoyed that. Laura, if we start this, I won't want to stop."

"We've already started," she said. "A long time ago. When you gave that speech and promised us the Earth. When you came to find me on Kobol. When you dropped Galactica into the atmosphere like the end of the world all over again. Gods, it's a miracle we have this chance."

"If anyone could make me believe in providence, it's you," he said.

She smiled. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks were flushed. "Bill, I would like very much if you would make love to me."

"I can't resist a request from the president," he said.

Her mouth twisted in amusement. "I hope that's not always true. I'm sure Baltar made a few requests."

He snorted. "That's different."

"I hope so," she said, and unfolded herself from the couch. She held out a hand. "I believe we're wasting precious time, Admiral."

He stood up and hooked an arm behind her legs, picking her up. Her shoes clattered to the floor as her arms went around his neck. She was laughing. "Bill! Don't hurt yourself!"

"Don't worry," he said, kissing her shoulder. "I've been working out." He maneuvered around the table and carried her to his rack. She felt good in his arms: her body was relaxed as her busy fingers undid the buttons at his neck. When he set her down on the bed, she grabbed his lapels and pulled him down with her; he caught himself by instinct and leaned over her as she undid the rest of his buttons. He dipped his head to kiss her, teasing her, dappling her face with kisses as she laughed and strained up against him to catch his mouth.

"Like a couple of teenagers," he mumbled, and she reached down and drew her hand up the inside of his thigh to the buttons of his trousers.

"Better late than never," she murmured back in that voice that shivered straight down his spine. "We're wearing too many clothes. Why don't you fix that? I'm doing my best on this end."

"Wilco, Madam President," he said. "I can't tell you how many times I've wanted to take that blouse off for you."

"Why didn't you?" she said, running her hands over his ribs.

"Seemed inappropriate in the middle of the flight deck," he said. "Or the Quorum. Or the tribunal. Or in front of the entire fleet." He had dragged the hem of her blouse up, exposing the softness of her belly, but she was lying down and he was tangled up in her jacket. "This isn't gonna work."

She wriggled out from under him and shed jacket and shirt herself, dropping them over the edge of the bunk with a little smile. He grinned back at her and got up, picking up her clothes and hanging them neatly over the back of a chair, draping his uniform over it. He looked back at her. "Compromise. A measure of propriety."

She tossed her skirt to him and lay there in his rack in just her underwear; he'd missed her taking her bra off somehow, but the way the blankets pressed her breasts up was like a promise. "Not ashamed, are you?" she asked, smiling.

"Never could be," he said, kicking his shoes under the chair. "But I'm sure you have other things to do today. It wouldn't do to have the President in a state of obvious disarray."

"Ah," she said, "how very thoughtful of you to preserve my reputation."

"Mine doesn't need help," he said. "Nobody in the fleet could resist you."

She laughed and rolled over, tucking her knees up and setting her glasses on the headboard. "You old flatterer. Come back over here." He shucked off the last of his clothes, dropped his glasses on the chair, and complied with a good will, crossing the space between them in three steps and almost tumbling into his rack. Gods, she was beautiful, mostly naked in his rack, lighting up the whole room with the life in her. He was too close; he could only focus on one small part of her at once, but he couldn't stand the thought of moving away, even to see the whole of her. He touched her bare thigh, stroking it, almost afraid to do anything else, wanting this to go on forever.

"It's true that we're not on New Caprica anymore," she murmured. "I'm the president and you're the admiral and we're running for our lives again. It's all right if that changes things, Bill."

"It doesn't change a damn thing about this," he said fiercely. "I just want it to last."

She put her arms around his neck. "I'm not worried about that. Only about never starting."

"I can fix that," he said, and pulled her closer, kissing her tenderly. She settled against him with a happy sigh, her hand moving over his back. Her free arm was under his neck and her fingertips tickled the back of his head. The hand that was on his back strayed down to his hip and slipped between them, and he grunted against her mouth. He felt her smile; their teeth clicked together and she nipped at him playfully. He slid his hand down the line of her spine and pressed her hips into his. She made a throaty little murmur that made him want to just push into her, to hear her make that noise over and over again, to hear her say his name with that whiskey roughness in her voice. He thought he understood now why Saul had stayed with Ellen: Laura made him drunk, set that fire in his veins, but it was the sweetness of a well-deserved drink at the end of the day, the comfort that Carolanne had never been.

He wanted to hold her forever like this, his face in the curve of her neck, smelling the clean perfume of her skin, listening to her laughter. He wanted to plunge into her and claim her body, her hair wild over the pillow and her eloquence reduced to moans. Somehow she brought him to a balance point where he was happy to choose or not choose. He was living, free: she was a place where gravity didn't exist, that high point between disaster and delight, and he had faith they could catch each other.

"Bill," she said, so affectionately that he could feel his heart squeeze and his face flush, "you're a hundred miles away."

"I'm right here," he reassured her.

She nuzzled at his ear. "You could be closer," she whispered.

"You're still wearing your underwear," he reminded her in a low rumble. She giggled, throwing her head back on the pillow. She was blushing too and he grinned. "I've never heard you laugh so much."

"I told you I was silly," she said, pouting a little at him, which was more charming than he'd thought possible. "Look the other way."

"Now _that_ is silly," he said. "You haven't got anything I don't know about."

She mock-glared at him, her eyes flashing, and flipped over, her back to him, as she shimmied out of the last scraps of fabric and tossed them over her shoulder. He slung his arm around her stomach and pulled her against him, his hand sliding into the cozy space between her breasts so that they filled his palm. She hummed and turned her head so that her cheekbone rested against his lips, her hand slipping behind his thigh, lying quiet against him. Having her in his arms like this was like drinking ambrosia: the syrupy sugary tingle that went all through his body, so unbearably sweet that it set his heart on edge, but there was peace in it too. He kissed her shoulder and the place where her neck ran into her shoulder, stroking her breasts, happy.

"Gods, this is good," she said quietly into the warm air above them.

"Mmm," he agreed. "I could live here."

She let her fingers curl over his where they rested on her breast. "We should at least deserve the tarnish on our reputations."

"That's good too," he said, and she laughed, so full of joy that he laughed too, and she was still laughing when he tipped his hips behind hers and nudged his way into the heat of her. Both of them made little grumbling noises of satisfaction and adjustment.

"That's _better_," she said. "Lords, I missed you."

"Me too," he said, rocking gently. She was tight around him; it was an interesting angle and he wanted to be deeper in her, down to the hilt, but it was enough to have her smooth and close, to be able to feel the rough place on her inner walls that made her emit breathy little squeaks when he pushed against it. He could hold her this way and kiss the back of her neck, imagine that they were in her cabin, that this was any casual, peaceful morning waking up together. Her hair tickled his nose and it only increased the sensations spreading through him. He could feel her body trembling as he stroked her inside and out and he loved her for it. He loved the quiver she let him feel as she felt it. She didn't stifle her moans: he loved that too, hearing her rising, following her up the steep slope of pleasure. With his fingers, he found the hidden knot of nerves under her curls and caressed it until she was panting a constant high note, her back arching until he almost slipped out of her. He held her to him with his palm flattened over her thigh and murmured encouragement until she went completely still, gasped, moaned, and shivered until he thought she might shake herself apart. Her body clutched around him and it was all he could do to hold out and not thrust into her. She turned her face blindly toward his and kissed him, her hand clutching at his hair, and he kissed her back until she sighed and relaxed into the mattress.

"Oh, lords," she said. "_Bill_."

He smiled and brushed her hair out of her face, kissing the tip of her nose so that she smiled too. She shifted and he slipped out entirely; the cool air was a shock and he felt a throb of what was almost homesickness for her, but she just turned over to face him and hooked her leg over his hip, guiding him back in. She hummed as he thrust reflexively.

"You didn't really think I'd leave you out?" she asked, settling her head on the pillow. Her eyes were large and beautiful and her hair tumbled around her face.

"It would have been enough," he said, running his hand down her side and pulling at her hips until they fit comfortably against his. He almost groaned: being sunk so deep into her drained his brain of power. All he could do was rock into her, kiss her, watch the subtle changes in her expression.

"Admiral," she said, and it sounded like an endearment, like she'd called him sweetheart. "Think a little better of me."

"I couldn't think better of you," he said, almost managing not to pause between the words. His hands were tingling. There were lights like stars at the edges of his vision.

"I want to give you everything I can," she said. Her face was so close to his that he couldn't see the details; when she spoke, her breath puffed against his lips. He kissed her, desperate for her. The heat between them might scald him, he thought, but he couldn't stop, couldn't not pull her closer until her breasts were squashed against his chest and he could feel the flutter in the muscles of her stomach. His body was tight: something had to give soon. It drove him on and she was moaning again too; he kissed her frantically, stroking any part of her he could reach, so that he felt the faint squeeze of her peak just as the rush of his pleasure unwound and he slumped against her, without even the energy to listen to what he was saying. She held his head against her shoulder, stroking his hair, kissing the top of his head.

When he woke up, she was watching him, her eyelids at half-mast like cat's eyes. "Morning."

"Morning," he said, pushing himself up on his elbows. "How long was I out?"

"I don't know," she said, ducking her head and blushing a little. "I was asleep too. I have no idea what time it is."

He started to reach for his watch and then let his hand drop to the blanket, dragging it over the two of them. "I'm off duty and you're the President. Executive privilege. Let them wait."

She laughed, and it was the sweetest thing he'd heard.


End file.
